


Out of Desolation

by mickeym



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Bloodplay, Dom/sub, Hurt/Comfort, Kinks, Knifeplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-01
Updated: 2011-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/mickeym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>After a day like today, Steve needs something physical to focus on, some way of harnessing the adrenaline he has trouble siphoning off on his own.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Desolation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for raynedanser, who's had a rough week :) I hope you like this honey, and that it makes up a little for the ick of this last week. *hugs* Title is based on the T.S. Eliot quote below. Hope y'all enjoy :)
> 
> *The D/s in this is more like 'elements of' or 'D/s themes'.

  
_No soul is desolate as long as there is a human being for whom it can feel trust and reverence.  
\--T.S. Eliot_   


It's dim and cool inside the house, windows open to catch all the breezes coming in off the ocean, and it's quiet, save for the sound of the shower running. The quiet is almost as deafening as the volleys of gunfire were, earlier in the day.

Danny takes a few deep breaths, exhaling slowly, and feels the stresses of the day begin to fade. He rolls his shoulders, tilts his head back and forth until his neck cracks, then finishes stripping down to his shorts. A quick glance at the nightstand ensures everything's in place; now it's just a matter of waiting on Steve to get his kamikaze ass out of the shower and back in here.

After months of working with the guy, it's not like Danny's not used to him pulling the GI Joe/Super Seal/Superman stunts that would kill any ordinary guy. But being used to them happening doesn't mean he _enjoys_ them.

Steve's silent when he comes out of the bathroom, face blank of all emotion, though his shoulders are tense. Danny raises an eyebrow , but doesn't say a word when Steve drops to his knees in front of Danny, head bowing down to rest against Danny's knee. He says something, voice so soft Danny doesn't catch what the words are, just feels the warmth of Steve's breath against his skin.

Steve's hair is still damp, edges curling just a little, when Danny slides his fingers through it.

"What?"

The shoulders tense even more, if that's possible, but Steve turns his head enough to speak clearly. "I said—sorry. I'm sorry."

Danny huffs out a breath. "It's—I don't want you to be sorry," he says, fingers stroking through Steve's hair. "I just want you to be careful. A little more careful. Just a little, not even a _lot_. I know you hero types; you gotta do what you gotta do."

Steve makes a sound at 'hero types', an I'm-not-a-hero-and-I'm-not-trying-to-be sound. They've maybe had this conversation before. Once or a hundred times.

"Steven." Danny tightens his fingers until he's tugging – not hard, just enough to be an attention getter – and forces Steve's head back just enough so he can see Steve's eyes. "Now isn't the time to be debating."

The only answer he gives is a clipped nod, but it's enough. Danny knows this isn't an argument he's actually going to win any time within this lifetime. He loosens his grip on Steve's hair; drags his fingers gently down Steve's cheeks, caressing. No stubble, so he shaved while he was in the bathroom. Too bad; one of the things Danny likes best about the mornings after, is how tender his lips feel. A little reminder that he doesn't have to share, however inadvertently, with anyone else.

"C'mere," he says softly, leaning down. Steve meets him partway, mouth open, seeking. He tastes minty, mouth and tongue cool, and Danny teases with his tongue until Steve's mouth is warmed, the mint flavor fading. He still chases it, slides his tongue over Steve's teeth, gums, the soft inside of his mouth until there's nothing there but _Steve_.

Danny pulls back just enough to hear a whisper of a whimper, and he nips at Steve's bottom lip, pulling gently with his teeth until he tastes the metallic bite of blood when Steve's lip opens again. Steve shudders and pulls away, flicking his tongue over it repeatedly. Danny draws him in close again and bites down on the tender skin, harder this time, until Steve groans and relaxes against him.

"What do you need?" He asks, pressing kisses against Steve's jaw, his words more whisper than sound. "Tell me what you need," he says, a little more forcefully, when Steve shivers in his arms. He's pretty sure – mostly sure, anyway – what Steve's going to ask for. It'll be one of two things: knife or belt. After a day like today, Steve needs something physical to focus on, some way of harnessing the adrenaline he has trouble siphoning off on his own. "Tell me," Danny says, one more time, forcing the bite of _command_ into his voice.

"Knife," Steve says, the word hoarse, a little rough. His pupils are wide and dark when Danny tips Steve's head back. There's a droplet of blood shining on his swollen lip, and Danny doesn't think twice about reaching out, thumb pressing into bruised flesh, rubbing the drop away.

Steve trembles, but his eyes shine with want.

"All right." Danny nods, then tips his head in a backward gesture. "Lemme get up there."

It takes Steve a minute to shift, to stand, but then he's up and hovering beside the bed while Danny crab-walks backward, going over everything in his head. Pillows stacked? Check. Clean sheet spread over the bedding? Check. Knife on the nightstand? Check. Butterflies in his stomach (as always)? Check, and double-check.

Steve straddles Danny's thighs, knees to either side of his hips like he's going to ride. And he might, maybe later. It's too early to tell if this will go in that direction or not. Oh, they'll both get off, one way or another. But maybe not that way. And that's okay, because this really, really isn't about sex.

Danny's never really been self-conscious about his body; before Grace was born, he was as likely to walk around the house naked as dressed. But Steve? Steve takes it to a whole other level. He's just—comfortable in his skin. Completely. He doesn't care that his junk is hanging out in the breeze, doesn't care that he's more vulnerable like this, where everything is on display. Maybe that's part of what takes Danny's breath away when they do this. Steve wants it, needs it, but he gives the gift of taking it to Danny.

The evening sun has everything drenched in hues of scarlet and purple, softened by the shadows collecting behind the light. The colors play over Steve's body, chased by those shadows, and blend with the golden color of his skin. Danny cups the back of Steve's neck and brings him down for more kisses, and he's positive he can taste the colors and the shadows equally.

"Knife's on the nightstand," he says when they've separated again, and he's pulled in a lungful of air. Steve reaches for it, stretching his body, and Danny can't help the noise he makes when the warm weight of Steve's dick and balls shifts against his. Yeah, he's still wearing his boxers, but that's not much material between them and anticipation has Steve already half-hard, with Danny not far behind him.

It's not Steve's Super Seal Bowie knife, but one they purposefully picked out together. Nine inches, not including the handle, sharpened to easily split a hair. It's actually a gorgeous piece of craftsmanship, right down to the sheathe it's kept in. Steve handles it…not carefully, more like reverently. He hands it off to Danny and watches, vibrating with tension, as Danny slides it out of the sheathe, steel blade catching the light and seeming to glow.

"I need—" Steve stops, swallows, and Danny gets fascinated in the way his Adam's apple bobs. Not nerves, just anticipation. Pure anticipation.

"You need to show it your respect," Danny says, offering it up. Steve takes it carefully and brings it to his lips. Kisses the blade.

Danny leaves the tiny smear of blood transferred from Steve's lip. It's just the first drop of many, tonight.

"Hands behind your back, and close your eyes." The first touch always needs to be a surprise, a mystery. Danny watches Steve's eyes shut and the shuffle as he locks his hands behind himself, before turning the knife around to trace the butt end of the hilt over Steve's pecs, following the lines and curves of muscle.

Goosebumps rise up behind the touches, and Steve quivers slightly, just a ripple of movement. Danny would bet money his hands are clenched right now.

He makes one more pass with the hilt, then eyes the canvas before him.

Steve inhales sharply when the tip of the knife circles his bellybutton. Not pressing in, there's no cutting yet, but Danny knows he feels it. He draws another circle, then makes a line upward until the blunted side of the knife is pressed against Steve's left nipple.

"You can open your eyes now, if you want." Danny always gives Steve the opportunity; he seldom takes it. Even now he's shaking his head. "No. Thank you."

Back to the tip of the knife, pushing, pressing, held right up against the tender nipple. It tightens, rises into a hard point while Danny watches; the other reacts the same way when he circles it with the knife point. Just above Steve's right nipple is a tiny pink scar, the first time they did this and Danny was too nervous, pressed a little too hard. He touches the point to the scar, skitters just to the side of it and lets the tip break skin. Steve breathes out hard but doesn't move. Whimpers when Danny draws a line, the knife cutting in just enough to raise a moist, red line as he goes. Around his nipple, down under his pec, then back up to curve up and around one shoulder.

"Danny." His name is breathed out, a low whine on an exhale, and Danny has to stop, has to wait for his shivers to subside. He swallows roughly.

"Yeah, babe."

"Harder. Please?" Steve opens his eyes, all pupil now, and Danny can see it all right there, laid out for him: hunger, need, trust, love, before his eyelids flutter shut again.

"Okay." He draws in a slow, deep breath and lets it out just as slowly, then starts to make the cuts Steve wants.

One to each side of both pecs, blood welling up bright red, dimming as it dribbles downward. A quick, shallow slash under the right pec that ends as a narrow line back down to his navel. Hip bones marked, smeared red, shadowed with night. Across his pubic bone, brushing along the top of the dark curls there, Steve's dick lengthening, impossibly hard. He makes a noise low in his throat when Danny cuts there again, one line above the other, before dragging his free thumb across it. Danny presses his thumb to Steve's mouth and he sucks it clean, tongue flashing redder than usual when he pulls off.

"Hold yourself," he says, voice rough and gritty, and Steve shudders, hard, before taking his cock in hand. "Do you want this?"

"Yes."

Tip of the knife gently, so gently, drawn along the hard length of Steve's dick, and Danny has to stop for a minute to breathe and steady his hand. He scrapes the flat of the knife up and down a couple of times while Steve pants raggedly above him, fingers tight at the base. He cries out when Danny circles the head, no pressure, just sensation, and droplets of pre-come well up with each pass. He's not moving – Danny's never seen anyone who can hold himself as still as Steve can – but the flex of his muscles shows he wants to.

Carefully, so carefully, Danny presses the tip of the knife to the little slit. Pokes just hard enough a tiny droplet of blood wells up along with more pre-come, smearing everything to slick pink. He pokes again, just once more, then scrapes the dull side of the blade up the underside of Steve's dick. Steve gives one more hoarse cry, and comes in thick pulses over Danny's stomach.

Danny sheathes the knife and sets it aside before shifting so he's mostly sitting up. He dips his head to lick over the cuts that are still oozing blood, lapping at each one, swallowing almost greedily. Steve groans and reaches for him, hands gripping Danny's shoulders hard enough he'll probably have bruises there, tomorrow. He tightens his grip when Danny scrubs his tongue over the deepest cut, pressing on it to make it bleed a little more. Definitely not high on the list of safest sex practices, but Danny doesn't care. Not when they do this.

He flips them, then, mouth still working at the cuts while he rubs against Steve. One long leg comes up and wraps over him, pulling them closer together. Danny kisses Steve, feeds him the taste of his own blood while he rocks into him, heat spiraling faster and faster through him, coiling tight at the base of his spine until it all has to go somewhere, _now_. He grunts and grinds down hard as he comes, groaning into Steve's mouth with each pulse.

Steve's boneless beneath him, utterly relaxed, and Danny can feel his muscles melting even as his breathing slows. He pushes Steve onto his side, ignoring his grumble, and curls up against him. They can't stay like this all night; the cuts need to be cleaned, and they both need to clean up or they'll end up stuck together permanently – which could make things interesting down at HQ. But for now they can both rest and bask in the afterglow. For a little while, anyway.

~fin~


End file.
